The Romantic Qualities of Potter
by the unbirthday girl
Summary: Lily and Rosmerta have a chat. Sort of. A hint of LilyJames/Jily. / Fifth year. - for Iris Cornelia Jade's birthday. :)


**a/n. so, um. for ****iris cornelia jade****. happy fourteenth. c: sorry it's late and suckish and short. at least i got it published by your b-day though, right? =.=**

**i disclaim**

**The Romantic Qualities of Potter**

The deepest snowfall of that year was in early December, the Friday right before Hogsmeade weekend. The village was crowded with students, but beautiful. Lily had always been fond of winter because she could curl up by the fire with a nice book, or because of all the hot chocolate she could get away with drinking; but at the moment, she didn't particularly mind the way the snow sparkled in the sunlight or the crunch beneath her feet as she walked, either.

Alice pushed open the door of The Three Broomsticks and stood back so Lily and Sarah could enter first. They were greeted by a rush of warm air and the sound of loud laughter. Madam Rosmerta was cleaning glasses behind the bar, and she shot the girls a cheery smile, which they returned willingly.

The girls chose a booth and removed their coats and gloves; Alice and Sarah sat down and instantly began gossiping. Lily walked up to the bar and leaned against it, saying, "Three butterbeers, please."

"Comin' right up," Rosmerta said promptly. She set down her glass and rag and set to getting the order. "How's Hogwarts?" she asked casually.

Lily sighed. "Same. Well, except we've OWLs this year, and I've got so much studying—"

"Woah," interrupted Rosmerta as she slid a mug of butterbeer in Lily's direction. "Studying for the OWLs, already? The school year's only just started!" Rosmerta had always been laid-back, in school, in work, in her personal life, but that just wasn't the way Lily worked.

"I know," said Lily, and then took a sip of her butterbeer. "I'm aiming for _O_s…"

"Well," Rosmerta chuckled, "good luck with that." She pushed the other two mugs, now full of steaming deliciousness, in Lily's direction and picked up the glass and rag again. Lily took another swig and decided to sit for just a moment more before standing to bring the girls their drink. She'd gotten comfortable on the wooden barstool.

Just then, the jingling of the little bell over the door caught Lily's attention. She glanced over her shoulder curiously and muttered, nearly inaudibly, "Damn it." It was—just her luck—the Marauders. Remus and Peter she didn't mind. Remus was a friend, and Peter was sweet enough, if a bit shy. It was Sirius and James she disliked. Their appearance was accompanied by a round of raucous laughter, seemingly emanating from James and Sirius—Remus was rolling his eyes, and Peter almost smiled.

"Sweet Merlin," she heard Rosmerta say quietly, "do those boys ever stop laughing?"

Lily was still watching when the foursome seated themselves at the table across from her booth. She turned to face Rosmerta and placed her mug firmly on the polished wooden bar. "I am absolutely _not _going _anywhere near _that table."

Rosmerta clucked her tongue in amusement. "You'll be drinking all that butterbeer on your own, then?"

Lily frowned. "Maybe," she said. She cast a quick look in Alice and Sarah's direction. They seemed to have forgotten all about the butterbeer at some point in their conversation. Like gossipy old ladies, they were.

Rosmerta laughed again. "All because of James."

"_No_," Lily said, in firm denial (which even she didn't believe) that the actions and/or location of one James Potter had any influence whatsoever on her. "I just like this stool."

Rosmerta smirked. "Of course. It's a lovely stool. Wonderfully crafted. You haven't paid me yet, by the way."

Lily dropped a few Sickles into Rosmerta's outstretched hand. "That has nothing to do with me staying here," Lily muttered, halfway to herself. Rosmerta's smirk grew wider, but she only said,

"I don't know what you have against him, anyway. What's he done?"

"Well," said Lily, straightening her back and intertwining her fingers together tightly, and then separating them, and then intertwining them again. It was as if she were preparing herself for some great debate. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we? Oh, wait. It's always been the same: He—freaking—harasses—me." She emphasized each word by hitting the bar with her fist.

"He's in love," said Rosmerta dreamily.

"He's a stalker," Lily replied flatly. "And a bully. And he's always playing with that stupid freaking Snitch—he isn't even a Seeker! He's a Chaser, for God's sake!"

"The only person I've ever seen him be unkind to is that Severus Snape, and that's because he's jealous. Boys do that. And he is not a stalker," Rosmerta added defensively. "He's just not sure how to express his feelings." Rosmerta, ever the romantic.

"Oh, he's _expressed_ plenty of _feelings_," Lily muttered bitterly. She raised her mug for another swig of butterbeer, but realized it was empty.

"You want a refill? On the house," said Rosmerta. "Or you could just drink your friends'. I doubt they'll want cold butterbeer."

"I'll do that," said Lily, taking the remaining two mugs in her hands. "I'd rather have cold butterbeer and thirsty friends than listen to you ramble on about the romantic-ness of Potter." She stood up and started walking toward the booth.

"Oi! Evans!"

_Sigh. _(OK, maybe she blushed. Just a bit.)

**a/n. many more to ya, ris. ilu. c:**


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